


Not Today

by ishtarelisheba



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, May Day Menagerie, angel of death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy picks up a pretty, blue-eyed girl from the side of the road on a rainy night, unaware that it's far more than your everyday hitchhiker he's happened across.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/gifts).



It was in a thunderstorm that he first met her. She was a wee thing, sopping wet and standing at the side of the road on his way back home. He’d have missed her, had he not been making a particular effort at paying strict attention to his surroundings. She stood just at the edge of his headlights, wearing a green cloak soaked so dark with the rain that it virtually rendered her invisible. He slowed the car and she waved, approaching as he rolled the glass down. Rain pattered heavily in through the open window.

“Heading toward Middlesbrough?” she asked, an accent that he couldn’t quite place lilting over the pounding of the storm against his car.

“Aye,” he said. “D’ye need a lift?”

She smiled, and something about it made his heart give an odd thump. “Yes, please!” she accepted immediately, throwing open the car door and hopping into the seat.

A clap of thunder directly overhead startled him, and he hurried with fumbling fingers to turn the heater on and put the car in drive again. 

“Father Joseph MacAvoy,” he introduced himself once they were on their way again. “I run the wee chapel in town.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking away from him, her head tilting as though she listened for something. The odd expression took her attention for perhaps a second. She turned back to him.

“Belle,” she said at last. “Thank you so much for stopping. Most people would drive right by. Most people did!” She laughed, holding her hands out to cup them near one of the heating vents.

“Not a problem. None at all.” The rain began coming down in sheets. Joseph could hardly see through it, even with the wipers going at full speed. He hated to drive in such weather, but he was almost home, now. “How’d you come to be out in this flood?”

“I was looking for something. Someone,” she replied with a smile. “The rain came later.”

“You sound as though you might be far from home,” he said, trying to fill in the silence that fell over the inside of his car.

“I suppose I am, in a way,” she agreed. “In another way it’s never far, though.”

Joseph gave her a curious look. She smiled again and shook her head.

“Have you moved into the area?” he asked.

“No, I’m sort of… here on business, I suppose you could call it.”

He wondered what manner of business she might have, out there in the pouring rain, but he decided not to get into that.

He rounded a curve in the road just outside of town and at the same moment a lorry rounded it coming the other way. He needed to veer off. He _had_ to. But his thoughts and his hands were not in line with one another, apparently. He was too slow, his thoughts lethargic and foggy, and he regretted the near empty flask of whiskey in his jacket pocket.

A hand reached over from the passenger seat. As calm as could be, this Belle he’d picked up on the roadside turned the wheel just in time to miss the oncoming vehicle. The lorry’s horn screamed, the sound fading into the distance as it moved past.

“Jesus!” he gasped, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his fingers ached. “Jesus, if- if you hadn’t-”

Joseph looked over to the girl in his driver’s seat and found it empty.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes the smell of roses that clung to her was a tad inconvenient. It tended to attract people, and those were not always people whom she particularly wanted to attract. As per example, the tall, lanky man with a self-satisfied grin who currently loomed over her. He smelled like tequila and an overabundance of the bar’s free corn nuts, himself.

“I can tell when a woman’s looking for a good time,” he said, moving closer. He stood with his back to the bar, his elbows propped on it. He thought he looked charming; she read that much easily off him.

“No, thank you,” Belle said, giving the man a polite glance before turning her attention back to the fizzy and harmless cherry drink in front of her.

“Oh, okay, I get it,” the man said, laughing. He leaned closer, speaking into her ear. “How much for an hour?”

She turned a disbelieving look on him. “Excuse me?”

“How ’bout twenty minutes? We could step out into the alley. Ten? I could get it done in ten.”

She frowned, holding back on the anger that attempted to scorch inside her. It wouldn’t do to allow that free. “I think not.”

“Not paying you to think.” He wrapped a hand around her upper arm, squeezing hard. There was a clear intention in the way he attempted - though utterly failed - to force her off the bar stool.

Belle allowed just a wisp of _something_ to fill the depths of her eyes as she turned her head to look at him. He jerked his hand away from her skin with a shocked gasp. Finally, he staggered away, leaving her in as much peace as one could find in a bar.

She returned her attention to the smaller, unkempt man who sat at the far end of the counter. He hunkered over a short glass of cheap whisky - his fourth since she’d arrived. Belle frowned as he downed half the contents in one gulp. Joseph had been a half dozen sheets to the wind when he stumbled in an hour before. Now he was positively sloshed.

He poured the rest of the whisky down his throat and stared forlornly into the glass. She heard him groan. He set the empty tumbler down, nearly missing the edge of the counter, and the bartender reached over to save it from toppling, giving Joseph a disgusted look before walking away. He bent forward and rested his cheek on the bar.

Belle felt a wave of compassion for him. He was a good man. He _was._ His life had simply been a difficult one, and he’d turned to destructive methods to endure that.

He stood - slid from his bar stool onto unsteady feet, really - and turned with a wobble that she was certain for a second would send him to the sticky floor. He regained enough balance to keep himself upright, though, and headed for the bathroom. 

Belle left her drink and stool and followed after him. He was vomiting when she went into the men’s room, emptying from his stomach the whisky and whatever liquor he’d drank before making it to the bar. The sound was deep and gut-wrenching, and it hurt to hear it. Just as she thought he’d finished being sick, another wave hit him. 

She turned her back to one of the sinks and lifted herself with a hop to sit on the edge of it. He groaned into the toilet and after a few more moments, it flushed. He didn’t come out of the stall, though. 

Belle waited, worrying. It wasn’t as though he’d died. She of all people would have known if he had. There was another man in the bathroom, and she waited until he’d gone before she hopped down and went into the stall where Joseph was.

He sat on the floor, his legs curled, leaning against the wall. His breathing was ragged and labored, and his color was truly terrible. She squatted down, resting a hand on his shoulder. He was all cleaned up with a flicker of thought.

“Joseph,” she whispered, sitting next to him.

“Don’ need th’ hospital,” he slurred. He sank down further, leaning, and she opened her arms to give him room to lay his head on her lap.

She shook her head. “I’m not taking you to the hospital.” 

“Good. Good. They don’ do ’nythin’ but shame me.” He frowned, looking for a moment as if he might burst into tears.

“No, you don’t deserve to be shamed,” she told him. He looked up at her and she could see the tears that had gathered in his eyes.

“It- it’s you,” he said, blinking to clear his vision. “You…”

“Yes,” she said with a small smile.

“You dis- disappeared,” Joseph slurred, pointing up at her.

“I’m sorry that I left you so quickly,” Belle apologized. “There was somewhere I had to be.”

He regarded her with wonder. “Ye saved my life.”

“I turned the wheel, that’s all.”

“No, you- you-”

Sadness shone through on her face. “There is so much good you could do, Joseph, if only you were sober…” 

He scoffed. “Nothin’ good about me. Not ’nymore.”

“Oh, Joseph. Darling, if you only knew.”

Belle sat, combing her fingers through the ends of his limp hair. His eyes closed. She cupped her hand to his cheek and sent another thought to the condition of him.

She left him stone cold sober on the bar bathroom floor, wondering how long it would take before he drank himself into oblivion again.


	3. Chapter 3

Joseph had spent weeks working on the sermon. He’d begun scribbling the morning after picking up a stranger in the storm, in actual fact. The weeks between, he had given all he was able during services, but _this_ sermon - it would be good. It would be the best he’d given in years. And all because of the girl who had twice crossed his path and apparently dissolved into the aether on both occasions.

He’d half convinced himself that he had hallucinated her in a drunken haze. The chances of a woman like that helping him - not once, but twice - of being so kind to him? Not in his wildest dreams. Her kindness, however, had inspired him. 

His sermon revolved around Christ’s own words regarding giving to those in need. It was something that people needed to hear, he felt, and if he were being truthful with himself, he needed it just as much as his parishioners. More, perhaps. At any rate, they seemed to pay more wholehearted attention to his words than they had in years. 

Halfway through, he caught a familiar face on the backmost pew. Belle. He smiled, and he saw her smile back. He managed to continue his sermon through to its end in spite of the distraction that she was, and proceeded to invite everyone present to serve with him at the soup kitchen that evening before mass. He was certain that he saw Belle’s smile brighten with his invitation.

He stood outside of the church doors, speaking to people as they left, shaking hands with those who cared to. There were more smiles than usual. Even knowing that she was there, it was still a bit of a surprise when Belle filed out at the very end of the group, holding her hand out to him.

She took the hand he gave in both of hers, and an odd feeling went through him. The strangest drop of his stomach paired with the thrill of being touched by her, and he returned her smile. 

“It’s lovely to see you this morning,” he said, meaning it with particular honesty. It was always nice to see people in the pews, but something about her made him happy in a way he didn’t think he had ever felt. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Well, I suppose I’m usually unexpected.” She laughed, her hands tightening around his. He didn’t understand her joke, but he chuckled along with her. “You look well, Joseph.”

“Thank you.” He felt his face flush warm for more than one reason. “Will you join us in the soup kitchen? We can always use an extra helping hand.”

Belle looked up at him, the unearthly blue of her eyes sending _fire_ through him. He had the mad idea that he could feel it right to his soul.

“You know, I think I will!” she said, giving his hand one final squeeze before letting go.

By the time Joseph took a place on the line to help fill trays, his hands shook and his skin felt clammy. He wondered if it had been a mistake to not have his morning drink. 

He’d been doing his best to cut down on his drinking in the few weeks since Belle had found him at the pub. He hadn’t always succeeded, but his sermon had been written in sober hours, and he had managed not to have a drink since before dinner the previous night. Now he was feeling it.

Joseph forced himself to smile through a wave of nausea and continued to spoon potatoes onto each tray that paused in front of him. It was with relief when he scraped the last spoonful from the bottom.

“I’m going to fetch the rest of the potatoes,” he said, lifting the empty pot.

The nun standing next to him nodded, and Belle, at his other side, smiled at him as he turned to go. He took the pot into the kitchen, setting it in the sink.

If he could only have a sip, it would help. Just a sip would make him feel better and he could make it through the day.

Joseph rifled through the cupboards as quietly as he could while the pot filled with water. 

_Ah!_ He grabbed the bottle of cooking sherry from the shelf next to the stove and unscrewed the top, tilting it up to his mouth with a trembling hand. The taste wasn’t his preference, but it wasn’t enough to stop him, either.

“I… thought I might help…” he heard from the doorway.

He turned to find Belle standing there watching him, and he sputtered, choking as he sucked sherry down the wrong way in shock. She looked so, so sad, and he wished that he could quite literally crawl into the bottle to hide in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He looked down at the bottle, now half as full as it had been when he found it. _Only a sip,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

“You have no need to apologize to me,” Belle said, but he could hear the disappointment in the tone of her voice.

He held the sherry out to her. “I should be apologizing to _somebody.”_

She regarded him carefully, as if searching his face for something. “Perhaps you should try yourself,” she told him, taking the offered bottle and reaching for the lid in his other hand, replacing it when he gave it to her.

She stepped over to the sink, turning off the water, and rose onto her tiptoes to put the bottle back in the cupboard. He wondered vaguely how she knew where he’d gotten it.

“We still have people to feed,” she said, approaching him again. She didn’t look at him in expectation, but in question. She was asking him to decide whether he wanted to go back out to the food line.

“You- you aren’t-”

“I’m not what?” Belle asked gently when he scowled at himself.

“I thought you might leave, catching me such a way.” He tugged self-consciously at his collar. “Not exactly dignified for anyone, least of all somebody meant to be a priest.”

“You _are_ a priest, Joseph,” she said, tilting her head at him, and he thought he heard something odd in her voice. “For better or worse, you are. Liquor or not.”

He looked up at her. She wasn’t pitying him, but she wasn’t angry, either. “So you aren’t leaving?”

Belle smiled sadly as she ushered him toward the door. “Not today.”


	4. Chapter 4

The rustle of wings made Joseph look up from his bout of navel-gazing self pity. He hadn’t felt right since the previous Sunday and the incident in the church kitchen, and sitting in the rectory by himself had done nothing at all to improve his mood. Finally, he’d forced himself up from the station he’d taken up beneath a blanket on the sofa and gotten out the door. It had been a few days since he’d made a hospital visit. Perhaps lending an ear or a prayer would help someone, even if he couldn’t be helped, himself.

The sound of feathers - heavy ones, as if some sizable bird had swooped low - seemed to have been his imagination. There were no birds nearby nor in the sky, and he wondered whether not having a drink for the last couple of days might have been causing him to hallucinate. It wasn’t unheard of. 

A familiar, sweet voice rang out across the hospital entrance. “Joseph?”

Though he cast around for the source of his name being called, he found no one so much as looking in his direction. Jesus, he _was_ hallucinating, wasn’t he?

“Joseph!”

He looked up. There she sat, perched atop a long, tall planter nearly his height. She pushed herself to the edge, slipping from the planter and to her feet on the pavement walkway as easily and lightly as though it had been little more than a bench.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” Belle said as she approached him. She peered at his face for a moment before smiling. “You seem well today.”

“I’m… not unwell, I suppose.” He nodded and she turned, walking alongside him as he continued on. “I thought it was time for a visit. Prayers for the ill are often welcome no matter the individual praying.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine anyone turning away a well-meant prayer from you.”

“Do you have someone here?” he asked in concern.

“Me? Oh, no. I’m here to pay visits, as well.”

“Really?” He looked over at her and smiled as she pushed the lift button. “How kind of you.”

Belle looked thoughtful for a moment before she responded, “Sometimes, yes.”

Her response, odd as it struck him, sent him quiet for the duration of the ride up to the third floor. Belle whistled softly along with the cheerful instrumental music being piped in.

“Here we are!” she said as the lift chimed and the doors slid open. She stepped out, waiting for him to follow. “Do you mind if I accompany you on your visits? If it’s any trouble, of course, I-”

“No trouble at all,” he assured her. 

Company was more than welcome. While visiting the ill on the oncology ward was a blessing that he would never resent, it wasn’t the most pleasant of duties, either. A bit of distraction in the form of Belle’s bright presence would be ameliorating.

She followed Joseph’s lead, walking half a step behind him so that he could choose which rooms they visited. He seemed to gravitate to the least ill on the ward, if such a thing could be ranked. Most were indeed accepting of their visitation, if not downright happy to see them. Joseph wasn’t terribly good at simple chatting, so she filled the spaces before and after his prayers.

Only once did Belle turn ahead of him into a room. As soon as they entered, he froze. She lifted a hand to his elbow, encouraging him in despite the pervading feeling of impending death. When the patient there - a woman near middle-age, her face sallow and thin, a sheer scarf covered in large, yellow flowers tied around her head - saw them walk in, there was terror in her eyes. It lasted little more than an instant, but Belle could tell that Joseph had seen and interpreted it incorrectly.

“If you’d prefer we leave-” he began.

“No,” the woman said in a surprisingly strong voice. “Stay.”

“I- we’re here to visit and pray, if that’s something you would find comforting,” Joseph told her, the same as he had told each of the other patients they’d seen this morning.

“I don’t know about comforting, but the company would be nice enough.” She pushed herself a bit higher up in the bed to sit, looking Joseph up and down. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

He blinked, stopping just inside the door. “Recognize-? I’m so sorry, I don’t.”

“Maureen,” she said as she adjusted her scarf to make sure that it was still in place. “Maureen Woodsy. I considered joining your parish a few years ago, when I moved to Middlesbrough. I ended up finding another the next town over. One headed by a _sober_ priest.”

He looked down at the Bible held in his hand, ashamed of himself. 

“It doesn’t matter now. He hasn’t been to visit,” Maureen said, pulling her blankets up. “A bit ironic that you _have.”_

“I- I’m sorry- I-” Joseph stammered as he stepped farther into the room.

“I’m not looking for an apology,” she told him, sighing out a deep and weary breath. “What I _am_ looking for are last rites. Apparently the time’s come. Will you do that for me?”

Joseph nodded, his shame taking a back seat to her need. “Of course.”

“I’ll just… I’ll be outside,” Belle whispered, touching his arm as she passed, and she went out into the hallway for the duration.

There was no use in telling herself that she wasn’t listening. She couldn’t help but hear. She heard them all, truth told.

“You can come back in now,” Maureen called after a good while passed. “Suppose I’m ready.”

Belle stepped into the room again. “Are you able to eat or drink anything?” she asked. “Is there anything you wish for?”

“Not to die.” Maureen gave a chuckle that ended up breathless and strained. “No. I can’t keep anything down. I’ve been surviving on IV bags and ice chips the last couple of weeks.”

“Joseph, would you go and ask a nurse about a fresh cup of ice chips?” Belle said, turning to him.

He went to do as she asked, a question from Belle regarding whether Maureen was truly ready reaching him before he was out of earshot completely. A nurse directed him to the cafeteria, where he found himself pointed toward a small ice machine specifically designed for such ice. He hadn’t realized that a dedicated machine was necessary, though he hadn’t much thought about it.

When he returned, cup of ice in hand, Belle sat on Maureen's bedside. She held the woman’s hand, her head bowed. Belle whispered something through silent tears, and Joseph knew all at once that Maureen had passed. 

The fact that she had died wasn’t what held him in shock, though. He gave his head a hard shake. The hallucinations would clear up in another day or so - they always did, when he went on a sober bent - but until then, he felt a bit mad with them.

At least this one wasn’t particularly disturbing. A glow of some sort emanated from around where Belle sat, and a hazy brown, shuddering shadow curled gracefully from her back. It seemed to fold slowly in on itself until it appeared to sink into her body. The glow and soft shadow disappeared, and she turned to look at him.

“Maureen is gone,” Belle said quietly. She sniffled and placed the woman’s hand so that it rested next to her. “Sit with her? I’ll tell the nurses.”

It was all that he could do to nod and step aside to let her pass by him. He sat down in the corner chair, holding the cup between his hands.

If he hadn’t known precisely what was causing him to hallucinate, it would have been easy to call it a vision. Belle was lovely, to be sure. She was wonderful, and she was kind, and despite the predicaments that he found himself in and which she always seemed to come around during, being around her made him feel some sort of happiness that he couldn’t remember ever having felt before. 

Aye, he could have easily interpreted her as a Heavenly host, were he not simply a drunkard in the last stretch of withdrawals yet again. But she was nothing of the sort, and he was far from worth an angel’s visit.


	5. Chapter 5

She’d watched how he spoke with Maureen’s family, comforting them and reassuring them that they would one day see their loved one again. As unsure and deeply loathing of himself as Joseph was, he _was_ also good at empathizing with those hurting or in need. Despite what he felt, he was a good person - she had witnessed it for herself.

Belle didn’t often linger as she had around him. She usually did her job and moved on, but it was somehow difficult to just… leave. The thought of simply popping in and out had her putting things off that she shouldn’t have been. She kept placing herself in his path as though she were drawn there. It was ridiculous. And it was going to land her in trouble if she didn’t get a hold on herself.

She wasn’t sure whether what she was doing was unwise or if it was necessary when she found herself in front of his church a few weeks after the incident at the hospital. It could go either way. Her decision making hadn’t been at its best recently, but she had to see Joseph.

He was walking around the outside of the church, his arms wrapped around himself, praying as he went. Joseph looked distraught, but he was still sober. That alone seemed a good sign.

“Good afternoon,” she said as he passed her by, his eyes on the grass.

He startled, turning quickly to look at her. “Good… afternoon? How long have you been here?”

“I only just arrived.” She moved closer, since it seemed as if he weren’t going to. “Are you all right?”

Joseph nodded, but his face told a different story. She went on looking expectantly at him until his arms dropped to his sides and he spoke softly. “It’s been a difficult day or two.”

“May I walk with you?” Belle asked. “I’m a great listener. If you’d like to talk.”

She walked around the front of the church with him and down the other side. The back looked out over a neighborhood garden. It was on the edge of blooming, with the occasional green leaves and buds showing themselves. There was no one around to see, and she reached to take Joseph’s hand as they rounded the corner. He looked at her as if she’d just tried to convince him that he could fly.

“A situation brought back some unpleasant memories,” he murmured as their walk slowed. “There was a child, a family, and now there isn’t. It… reminded me of things.”

Belle waited long minutes for him to go on. When he didn’t, she gently steered them toward the garden. “Do you enjoy being a priest?” she asked.

The question seemed to surprise him. “Yes. Of course. I suppose. ‘Enjoy’ doesn’t- it doesn’t really-”

“But it should, shouldn’t it?”

Joseph stared blankly at her.

Belle went on, not forcing him to answer. “Did you feel that you were called to the clergy?”

“Called?” he echoed, considering her question. “No. I didn’t. It was more a shelter of sorts.”

“How do you mean?”

“I didn’t have a terribly happy life when I was young.” He stuffed his unheld hand into his pocket, ducking his head as he spoke. It came out almost without his permission. “My father, he was… unkind. To say the least. He ruled his home with an iron fist. _His_ home. Everything was his.”

“That sounds terrible,” she said when he quieted.

“My mum bore the brunt of it until she couldn’t any longer.” Joseph frowned, and she could feel the sorrow pouring off him. “She drowned herself when I was fourteen.”

Belle reached out, stopping them with a hand on his arm. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up as a breeze came through, hoping that the cool of it would blow away some of the weight from his shoulders. When he looked at her again, she didn’t appear surprised at all, but her mouth turned down in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she told him.

He had never spoken of it to anyone outside of the sanctity of the confessional. He should have been stronger, should have protected his mother. If he had, she wouldn’t have lost hope. It was as good as his fault that she’d died the way she had.

Belle squeezed his hand. “There’s nothing you could have done, Joseph.”

He wondered for a moment how she’d known just what he was thinking, but he imagined the guilt must have been written all over his face. 

“I had to get away from my father. I lived in fear he’d kill me, or that I’d kill myself as my mum had. Wasn’t sure how to get away, though. I never was suited to much, not work-wise. Too scrawny to do physical labor. Traditional university was out of the question. I had a talk with my mum’s priest - the one who had this parish before me. He knew me. I tagged along every time my mum came through the doors. It was a long talk.” He sighed, shaking his hair away from his face. “I needed safety and a job, and he needed an eventual replacement. He asked the community to help in putting me through seminary school.”

“That was kind of them. And of him,” Belle said.

“I excelled in seminary. Top marks. I never did very well in school, so that was a bit of a surprise. I decided that it was meant to be. Father Fergus died five years after I graduated, and the parish went to me.”

“When did you begin…?” She glanced to the obvious shape of a flask through his cardigan.

He hadn’t had a single drop in more than three weeks. For that matter, the flask was bone dry. Keeping it on him tempted the devil, but he still tucked it into his pocket every morning. It was stupid, tempting himself so, and he knew it.

“I guess the burden of being responsible for so many souls may have been more than I anticipated,” he murmured.

They walked without talking for a bit, passing beneath half-leaved trees and shrubberies that would be glorious once spring finally arrived, but that were still skeletal in the wavering cool weather. 

“If it’d been only myself in the car…” Joseph began, shaking his head and pausing long before he gave voice to his next thought. “That lorry would have hit me, and I’d have been glad of it. No great loss to the world.”

“Did it occur to you that perhaps it wasn’t your time?” Belle asked him, reaching over to wrap her hand around his elbow, as well, holding onto him. “Perhaps you have things to do here.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “What? What could I accomplish? Outside of staggering about drunk and humiliating myself.”

“You aren’t drunk now,” she reminded him. “And you never know. You might not have even happened across it yet.”

“Happened across what?”

She smiled up at him. “What you’re meant for.”

He tried to find hope in her reassurances, but it was only another thing that he failed at. “I’m meant for nothing,” he said, pleading in his words. “Always have been.”

“You’re wrong, there, Joseph. You’re so wrong,” Belle whispered, tugging him to a stop. 

She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, stroking her fingers across the unshaven scruff there. His skin was far less sallow. He looked healthier. Joseph’s eyes closed as he tilted his head into her touch, and she could see anguish cross his features.

In a fit of foolish thoughtlessness that should have been beyond her, she went up on her toes and kissed him. A good, firm kiss, pressing herself against him and catching her hand around the side of his neck, and oh, dear God, it felt so good to be so close to him.

She loved him. _Loved_ him. When had that happened?

The realization that it had been happening since the night in the rain unsettled her. Every time she crossed his path, it had gotten worse. The need to see him again had grown greater and greater - it was why she kept leaving him.

Belle didn’t think she’d ever known panic, but she knew without a doubt that was what grew inside her now. She shook her head, stepping back.

“Not today,” she whispered, letting go of his hand, and she made certain that by the time he opened his eyes she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Belle stood at the end of the stepping stone path leading up to the rectory door, steeling herself. Twice she nearly turned herself around and left.

It needed to be done, though. It had to be done. She’d put it off for months, now. 

With one last deep breath, she walked up the path and knocked at the rectory door, hoping despite herself that he wasn’t there. Perhaps he was out? Or too busy to answer? She wished for either. Joseph opened the door, though. Somehow her spirit leapt at seeing him and lurched in pain at the same time. His smile when he saw her only made both all the worse. 

“Joseph,” she said before he could greet her.

“What a lovely surprise!” He looked down at the striped dish towel held in his hands and tossed it somewhere aside. “Come in, come in!”

“Oh, no, I can’t stay. I only wanted…” Belle stopped, finding it so much more difficult now that she smiled up at him from the step.

“Wanted what, Belle?” Joseph asked when she hesitated for too long.

She had to make herself say it, and she ended up blurting rather forcefully, “Would you meet me at Eliano’s tonight?”

He floundered a bit, but he recovered his smile, and it was so bright and sweet that she wanted to kiss him again. “The- the restaurant, do you mean?”

“On Fairbridge. You know it?”

“I know the place.”

“Will you meet me there? At eight?”

Joseph nodded quickly. “I will! Eight sharp.”

She bid him a brief goodbye and left, hurrying away from the church, fully aware of how he watched her go.

Belle knew what she was doing. It was right - or it was _meant_ to be right. It just didn’t feel that way.

~*~*~*~

He wasn’t sure whether Belle meant for him to meet her inside the restaurant or wait for her outside, but he erred on the side of caution. Joseph stood off from the entrance, where he had a good view down both sides of the walk, and he watched for her.

There had been a dozen times over the course of the day during which he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing in accepting her invitation to Eliano’s. It seemed to be rather a slow night, but most of the people going in still arrived in pairs. He wouldn’t be assumed to be on a date, though, would he? He hadn’t changed into anything less conspicuous, considering that perhaps doing so would lead anyone who recognized him to think he might be trying to misrepresent who he was. For all any of the other patrons knew, he could simply be having a business dinner or feeding someone in need of it. It wasn’t so easily excused in his own thoughts, though.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets to keep them from fidgeting nervously. It was nearly eight. Belle would arrive at any moment.

A young man, appearing as though he’d spent a good deal of time on the street and had far too much of whichever substance he preferred, knocked into his shoulder. The collision spun Joseph around, and the young man turned to face him with a hard expression and an open pocket knife in his hand.

 _“Give me your wallet,”_ the young man demanded.

Joseph groaned. It wasn’t as though it were his first time being mugged. He’d lost enough wallets that he stopped keeping halfway nice ones years ago. The collar didn’t seem to deter it the way it once had. He frowned as he pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. He’d have no way to pay for their meal, now. He would have to explain it all to Belle when she arrived. 

“It’s all right,” he said, trying to reassure the boy. “You can have it.”

He held the wallet out and it slipped from his fingers. “Sorry, sorry…” Joseph apologized, and he bent to pick it up.

“Stay right where you are!” the boy yelled at him.

“All right, it’s all right, you can have-”

The young man, eyes wild with fear, took a step toward him. It was a shock, the knife sliding into his belly. The weapon was sharp enough that it didn’t hurt immediately. The second, third, fourth, fifth stabs to his gut seared with pain, stealing his breath and forcing tears from his eyes. 

Joseph fell to his knees. He sank down to the sidewalk, rolling onto his back and clutching at his stomach. The bleeding had to be stopped. If it didn’t… 

He saw the boy’s blood-slick hand dart out to grab his wallet, and then he was alone. It hurt, but not for as long as he’d have imagined it would. The pain ebbed, and he could feel as his blood trickled steadily down his right side. His hands did nothing to stop it. Joseph felt the pool of blood spreading - the way it grew cold beneath him on the pavement, soaking through his clothing.

 _Oh. I’m hurt that badly, then,_ he thought.

He was going to Hell and he knew it. God knew him too well to allow such as him into Heaven.

His lips tried to move around the words of the Hail Mary, but he couldn’t form them. He thought it as hard as he could. It would do him no good, not as far as where he would go, but it was a comfort.

He felt as though he lay there for hours, alone and frightened, and he found himself thinking of Belle. 

_Oh, God, what if she finds me like this?_

And suddenly she was there.

“No! Joseph!” Belle cried out, dropping to her knees next to him. His blood seeped into the hem of her dress, and he wanted to apologize for ruining it. “Joseph, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” 

She leaned over him, holding his face between her hands, and he felt her tears spatter on his cheek. He did his best to mouth the words, “I love you,” because it didn’t matter anymore now, did it? The words came out, weak and wavering, but to his relief, they were aloud. 

“I didn’t mean for you to,” she whispered to him. “You weren’t meant to. I didn’t mean to.”

“Meant to?” he breathed, not understanding.

There was light. _So much light._ His instinct was to close his eyes against the sear of it, before he realized that it didn’t hurt. The light softened, leaving him with Belle at the center of the burst of it. Other than the Belle he had known for months now, the first thing he noticed were wings. _Her wings._

The feathers were a chestnut sort of auburn, reflecting the colors of her hair. They looked more akin to a hawk’s wings than a dove. Her hair was down and wild, and her little blue and yellow flowered dress was gone. In its place she wore some manner of long, blue tunic, a few pieces of simple silver armor fastened over it.

She was allowing him to see her, here, in this moment. It didn’t take more than that for him to understand why.

He whimpered. “You’re the angel of death.”

 _“An_ angel of death,” she clarified softly.

“You’re here for my soul?”

Belle brushed his hair away from his face. She stroked his cheek with her fingers, and she leaned to bring her face nearer his. The kiss she gave him felt as though she took the light surrounding her and poured it into him. Her hands lingered for a moment before she moved them to rest flat against his chest.

There was an ache inside him, and he understood what it was that he felt. Belle was touching his soul. She was stopping it from releasing his mortal coil, and he ached as it grabbed hold again.

Joseph heard gasps and shouts for help, but it was beyond the sunny glow that shone around her.

“Not today,” she breathed, and he felt her breath enter his mouth with the words.

He tried to keep his eyes open, but something made it impossible. There was the beat of heavy wings, a gust of wind, and then the absence of light.


	7. Chapter 7

A half dozen surgeries, a call too close for comfort, and one month later, he was hale enough to be released from the hospital. Joseph had convalesced at the rectory for the two months following that while a fledgling priest cheerfully took over his duties until he could resume them. When the time came, however, he found that he had no desire to.

He resigned and packed what little he could call his own, deciding to go back to Scotland. He could find something to do there. It was very much by the seat of his trousers, but it was something that he needed to do. Something that he felt a pull to do. Which was how he found himself on a vaguely familiar and empty road outside of Rutherglen. 

He hadn’t known that he could ever again feel as healthy as he did. Not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips in nearly four months. That was why he could be almost completely certain that he wasn’t hallucinating when he saw a girl on the roadside.

It was raining - that seemed to be his lot when it came to hitchhikers. He couldn’t leave a girl walking in the pouring rain. It was a summer shower this time. Not that it made a great deal of difference in Scotland. The weather was still too cool to be out in it without a slicker. And he would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit he’d been hoping with every hitchhiker he gave a ride into one town or another that it was Belle again. 

He pulled over, leaning to push open the car door. “D’ye need a lift?” he called over the sound of the pelting rain.

Joseph could have sobbed when the girl turned around. _Belle._ She looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, and she laughed as she climbed quickly in. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her close.

Finally, she pulled away and shut the car door, saying through chattering teeth, “I’ve been looking for you!”

He turned the heat on high and turned to rummage through the mess in the back seat for a blanket in one of the donation boxes that he’d been taxiing. When they’d gotten it wrapped snug around her, he put the car in drive again.

“You had trouble finding me?” he asked as he brought the car back onto the road. “I’d have thought…”

Belle fumbled for an opening in the blanket to stick her hand out, and she reached to take his hand in hers. She’d been searching for him for _so long,_ now. 

After inviting him out to the restaurant that awful day, she had gone to the building directly across to wait. She’d paced, wringing her hands, praying with every breath. She prayed to Father for the strength to go on with what she knew she must, for help in accepting that it _was_ right, for forgiveness of feeling the way she did toward Joseph and the situation and all of it. At the last minute, she hadn’t been able to do it. She had seen the man with the knife, and she made herself wait on the rooftop for as long as she could before going down to stop it. But it had already been done.

She had made certain that Joseph wouldn’t die, and she’d had time for no more than the two words she gave him before Father had taken her off the earth and brought her before Him. There had been a long, _long_ talk. She’d been ashamed of being unable to perform her duties, but she could find no sliver of shame at all for the way she felt toward Joseph. Though she’d feared that she would be dropped into the Pit for her disobediences, Father had shown her mercy.

By the time she had shed her wings and been sent back down to live the years that Father had granted her, she’d lost track of Joseph. She didn’t know which hospital he might be at, and she’d no longer a way of her own to take herself right to his side. He hadn’t gone back to the rectory for many weeks, and she had gone to search for him in other places. When she returned, there was another priest in his place, and he had told her that Joseph left the church.

Belle wasn’t entirely certain how time would work for her, but she _had_ decided that traveling the earth until she found him was a good start. She remembered that he’d been born in Scotland, and it was as fine a place to begin as any. 

Joseph squeezed her hand, lifting it and kissing her fingers. She looked a bit tattered, and it occurred to him that she hadn’t the first time he’d picked her up in the rain. He only understood why now. Her hand was chilly, and she shivered. She was no longer what she’d been.

“Belle…” he said, looking over at her with sadness in his eyes.

“I’m all right,” she told him, smiling brightly. “I’ve never been happier.”

He held her hand to his chest, and she scooted closer to his side on the car seat. She moved right up against him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you,” Belle told him with a sigh.

“And I’ve missed you.” He let go of her hand in favor of wrapping an arm around her. “We’ve a lot to talk about.”

“Yes, we do.” She lifted her head so that she could see him.

“But not today?” he asked, smiling. 

Belle rubbed her nose against his shoulder and rested there again. “Not today.”


End file.
